Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [47]
He considered the various packs left abandoned in the campsite, along with the food, the blankets and most of the warm clothing. Each pack, of which there were twelve in total, contained a fat purse of gold marks, and all of it belonged to him now. But gathering his money would have to wait. There was a much more pressing treasure that needed collecting now, before it was lost forever. Frost was out there in the dark with Peter. That’s what needed sorting out first and foremost. Frost Taker, still hanging heavy in one hand, was eager to be about its work and needed to drink deep of Thief Peter’s innards. Only then the family treasure would be restored to its true owner. Only then would things be set right. That’s what Max needed to do first, before Peter could get away. Mere gold could wait.
Max stepped into the darkness, following in the direction he’d watched Peter go just two or three minutes earlier, dragging his sobbing little sweetheart behind him. Before long Max was as lost and confused in the pitch black of the endless forest as everyone else must be. At first he thought about finding his way back to the camp and making a torch from the fire. But he quickly discarded the idea, realizing that, although it would certainly provide him greater light to see by, it would also alert others to his coming. Even someone as stupid as filthy little Peter couldn’t help but easily avoid someone carrying a lit torch in the night. No, instead Max would creep silently and carefully, pausing often to listen. That’s how the other night prowlers hunted, and he was certainly one of them now.
He did so and in time his practice was rewarded. Pausing at the top of a slope, Max heard the quiet murmur of a stream far below, accompanied by distant voices. Listening intently, halting his own breathing to help unmask the nearly inaudible sounds, he eventually recognized Peter’s voice, along with the bratty Peep girl. It was hard to be certain, but they seemed to be arguing about her shoes, or perhaps just one shoe, along with something he couldn’t fully make out about a snail.
Ever so slowly he began to creep down towards them, taking care not to slip and thereby betray his presence. By the time Max reached the stream at the bottom of the gully, he could hear Peter and Bo, quite clearly now, on the water’s far side, crawling up the opposite slope. Max let them get farther up the hill, into the tree line, before crossing the stream after them. Be patient, he had to remind himself, when his every desire was to throw caution to the wind and dash boldly up the hill. Stealth and guile is what will win this night’s contest. Oddly, he began to suspect that he wasn’t the only one in danger of surrendering to impetuosity. Was it only his imagination, or could he now actually feel Frost Taker’s intense hunger for Peter’s blood? It seemed to practically vibrate in its sheath, like a prize colt being restrained from its desire to run.
After he judged that his prey was far enough up the hillside so that Max could not be easily overheard, he began to climb. It was beginning to get easier now to track them, and Max’s confidence was growing to fit the new circumstances. Not only were his eyes adjusting to the darkness by now — it had been thirty minutes at least since he was exposed to the camp’s firelight — but the children seemed intent on making his task easier by talking all the time. Max continued to climb.
And then he stopped.
No, he hadn’t intended to stop, but he stopped all the same. He wasn’t overly tired from